


Divergent

by Kobo



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Because every AU is a necessary AU, Cassian and Jyn in Dauntless, Divergent AU, F/M, POV First Person, for some reason because I have not written in First Person in literal years, mentions of fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-30 20:33:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10884414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kobo/pseuds/Kobo
Summary: When I took my aptitude test, which suggests which of the five factions – Amity, the kind; Erudite, the intelligent, Candor, the honest; Abnegation, the selfless; or Dauntless, the brave – we’re most suited for, it came back with two results. I'm Divergent,  an anomaly that could mean death, according to the Dauntless man who administered my test.





	Divergent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angstlairde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstlairde/gifts).



> Somehow, in the realm of a million AUs that RebelCaptain fits perfectly into, I didn't think of _Divergent_ until [Strong-Bottle-Of-Jyn](http://strong-bottle-of-jyn.tumblr.com/) suggested it to me. A million headcanons and [one beautiful aesthetic](http://strong-bottle-of-jyn.tumblr.com/post/160485502928/divergent-au-cassian-moved-closer-to-her-then-not) later, and this fic was born.
> 
> As always, thanks to my amazing beta [SuchStuffAsDreamsAreMadeOn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SuchStuffAsDreamsAreMadeOn/pseuds/SuchStuffAsDreamsAreMadeOn) for always being there whenever I need her to look at a fic (or just being there in general!!)

My father is leading the Choosing Ceremony this year. I don’t know if I’m lucky or not. On one hand, it’ll be a familiar, loving voice who calls my name and asks me to choose my future faction. But on the other hand, I know – and I think he does, too – that I’m leaving him. Today, I’ll choose to move away from Erudite – the faction where my parents met and fell in love and the faction where my father raised me after my mother’s death – and choose my own path. By having my father up on the stage there will be no way for me to avoid his reaction. I’ll see his eyes, no matter if they are heartbroken or content or otherwise, and know that I’m taking the last member of his family away from him.

But Galen Erso is the head of Erudite for a reason. His IQ, of course, is the highest of all the faction members, but has the gift of understanding people as well. Especially me. As I take my place among the other sixteen-year-olds, he comes to me and grabs my hand.

“Whatever choice you make,” he says, “If you’re happy, Jyn, then that’s more than enough.”

I nod and bite my lip. Tears gather at the edges of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Papa reaches a hand up to touch my cheek, and I can barely stand to meet his eyes. How could I do this to him? How could I take away the last piece of his family?

“Your mother would be proud of you, Stardust,” he assures me before walking to the front of the stage. He waits until everyone is seated and quiet before beginning his speech. I barely hear his explanation of our society’s history or the values of the five factions – Amity, the kind; Erudite, the intelligent, Candor, the honest; Abnegation, the selfless; and Dauntless, the brave.

He doesn’t mention the other group in our society, the group that, for reasons I may never understand, I fall into.

The Divergent.

Yesterday – and it seems so strange to me that this life changing news came only twenty-four hours ago, when it feels like it’s been weighing on my mind for decades – I took my aptitude test.

The test, designed by the government and administered to every sixteen-year-old, suggests which of the five factions we’re most suited for.

Mine came back with two results, an anomaly that could mean death, according to the Dauntless man who administered my test.

I look to Erudite, the first faction I showed an aptitude for. Men and women sit with their backs straight and legs neatly crossed. Each member wears blue somewhere in their outfit to encourage calmness and clarity of mind. Their hairstyles are neat and practical, buzzcuts and buns that could transition into work in a lab or in a library easily. I was raised among these people; I know them and their daily routine. It’s comfortable, perhaps, but slightly stifling.

Next, I shift my eyes to Dauntless, my other possible faction. They’re a hoard of black shirts and leather jackets, pierced ears and tattooed skin. They smirk at each other as Papa mentions them, and a few whoop in pride. The women’s hair tumble wildly over their shoulders and the men, too, allow long hair to fall into their eyes. I’ve watched these people from afar for years, watching the students toss paper back and forth in the lunchroom at school or seeing the Dauntless guards patrol the city, guns in hand. They’re a great unknown, but there’s a freedom there that’s always fascinated me.

The aptitude test says I could join either of these factions, but I know this is the faction I want to join. I want to line my eyes with kohl, like the other Dauntless girls I’ve seen, and feel the sheer exhilaration of jumping on and off trains. I want to be free to shout my excitement and argue, not with facts and explanations like in Erudite, but with my fists and harsh words.

I steel my resolve as my father begins calling the names of my peers. One by one, each sixteen-year-old will approach the front of the stage and accept a knife from my father, then, with drops of their blood, they’ll show the faction they’ve decided to join.

Their blood will fall into a bowl of soil if they choose Amity, water if they choose Erudite, glass if they choose Candor, gray stone if they choose Abnegation, and lit coals if they choose Dauntless.

As my father calls, “Jyn Erso!” I walk towards him. He nods slightly and, with knowing eyes, inclines his head towards, not the bowl filled with water and blood, but the bowl where flames dance and jump with the same energy of their faction members.

_If you’re happy, Jyn, then that’s more than enough._

_Your mother would be proud of you._

His nod, like his earlier words, are one final blessing, an acceptance that I won’t be staying with him.

With a nod of my own, I drag the knife across my palm, and watch as the drops of my blood sizzle against the coals.

 

* * *

 

Bodhi stares at his hands, at the bruised and bloody knuckles – his opponent’s, not his – with shock and regret in his eyes. He did exactly as we were instructed, exactly what I had been practicing with him; he punched and kicked and fought until another initiate fell unconscious. But he spent sixteen years of his life in Amity, and their kindness still runs through his veins, no matter if he’s exchanged their bright clothes for the blacks of Dauntless.

“This isn’t bravery! This is—this is cruelty!” Bodhi hisses, and I elbow him in the side to quiet him.

He’s right, of course; forcing the initiates to fight each other until one cannot continue – Where’s the bravery in that? Dauntless leaders don’t want to hear that, though. Any negative remarks about their training style is seen as an offense against the faction we’ve chosen, and disloyalty leads to the worst punishment anyone in our society can think of: being kicked out of Dauntless to live factionless.

For most of us, that fate is considered worse than death.

I cast a glance over to our instructor, Cassian. He stands against the wall focused intently on the current fight between Luke Skywalker and Wedge Antilles, arms crossed and face blank. His traditional stance while we beat each other senseless to prove ourselves worthy. Luckily, only he’s in the training room today, and he wouldn’t bat an eyelash at Bodhi’s remark. If Krennic, one of Dauntless’s leaders who oversaw training when it suited his fancy, heard what Bodhi said, I’d be worried. But Cassian has complained about the fights to Krennic himself, so I know he won’t report Bodhi’s comment.

He’s different from the other members of Dauntless, especially from the leaders. Most people around the faction have faces full of tattoos and piercings, half their head shaved or maybe dyed unnatural colors, but not Cassian. His hair is long enough to fall into his eyes, but it’s just slightly untidy and a natural brown. Definitely not the rebellious looks I’ve come to associate with the Dauntless.

His demeanor, too, is different from the others. From the way Krennic talks, Cassian turned down a position in leadership, the desired job for faction members. When Cassian demonstrated fighting techniques and how to fire a gun or throw a knife, he did so with immaculate precision and a sort of respect for the power he held. Where Krennic demands the fights end when one person cannot continue, Cassian respects our right to concede a fight.

“A brave man acknowledges the strength of others,” he’d said.

Krennic had snorted in reply. “A brave man never surrenders.”

They are two kinds of Dauntless, I realize. Krennic, the ruthless, and Cassian, the honorable.

The fight in the ring ends with Wedge landing a solid hit on Luke’s jaw. Luke goes limp and falls backward, but Wedge catches him before he hits the ground.

“Jyn and Kes,” Cassian calls. “You’re up next.”

As I walk to the ring, we lock eyes. There’s emotions swirling in the depths of his brown eyes that I can’t quite decipher, but it’s a reminder that there’s much more to this man than the stoic face he presents to us. He points his chin towards the ring, where Kes is waiting, jumping around and stretching his arms, and gives me a small smile – nothing more than the corner of his lips curling upward.

I push it to the back of my mind as Kes and I circle around each other and focus instead on Kes’s quick remarks and quicker punches.

Unfortunately, at dinner that night, Kes – still smarting from losing to me earlier in the day and desperate to discuss anything else – mentions Cassian again.

“Where do you think he grew up?” Kes asks, nodding towards where Cassian sits by himself, mindlessly shoving forkfuls of pasta into his mouth, his attention focused on a book in front of him.

“He’s smart. Do you remember him in Erudite?”

I shake my head. “I would remember him.”

Kes smirks at me and I can guess how he interpreted my words. Thankfully, Bodhi, who seemed oblivious to the double meaning behind my words, speaks before Kes can. “I don’t remember him in Amity either. Maybe he’s a Dauntless born.”

“No,” I say, thinking of how he was alone – like me – on Visiting Day, while the other Dauntless gathered with their families. “No, he definitely transferred. It makes sense that a faction transfer would be in charge of the incoming faction transfers.”

“Don’t get too Erudite on us poor Amity transfers,” Kes snorts. “But, fine, what faction are you betting on, Miss Smarty Pants?”

I think over the remaining two options: Abnegation and Candor. Cassian does shy away from the spotlight, like someone raised to value selflessness would do, but a memory of my first day of training comes to mind.

“You’re nervous,” Cassian had said as he handed me a gun.

I’d stuck my chin up, defiant, and disagreed.

“That’s how I know,” he’d assured me. “Keep your hands still while you’re lying if you want to make it believable.”

“Candor,” I say, and the answer feels right on my tongue. “I bet Cassian grew up in Candor.”

“No Candor knows how to stay as quiet as he does,” Kes argued back. “He definitely grew up in Abnegation.”

I stand and push away from the table, filled once again with the rush of defiance I felt when Cassian accused me of being nervous with the gun. “Why don’t I ask him myself? I’ll prove you both wrong,” I say and head towards Cassian’s table.

I plop down in the seat across from him, and Cassian doesn’t even flinch, just casually glances up and raises an eyebrow.

“My friends and I,” I begin, but he cuts me off before I can get any further.

“Were discussing–very loudly, by the way–what faction I grew up in,” he says, eyes turning back to his book.

I sit silently for a moment. If he knew what we were discussing, then he knows I want him to settle the debate. His eyes don’t return to mine, nor does he acknowledge my presence. He simply continues eating and reading.

“Hey,” I say, and lean over to take his book away from him. “I grew up in Erudite and when I was never this attached to a book.”

He sighs. “Maybe I don’t want to tell you. Have you considered that?”

“Maybe,” I shrug. “But at this point it’s personal, because I need to be right and I need Kes to be wrong.”

He laughs then, a much louder sound than I’ve ever heard him make before. With a slight shake of his head, he leans forward. I match him, until our faces are only inches apart.

“You’re in luck, Jyn,” he whispers with a smirk. “Because I did grow up in Candor.” He leans back, then, and his eyes grow serious. “But I suggest you forget about where you or anyone else came from. You’re here now, and that’s most important.”

I shake my head, amazed at how quickly he transitioned back into my instructor when, for a moment, I thought he could be a friend.

“Yes, sir.” I give a sarcastic two-fingered salute and start to get up from his table. He stops me by grabbing my wrist.

“I mean it, Jyn,” he says, his voice insistent, his eyes boring into mine. “The leaders take _faction before blood_ seriously here.”

Krennic had warned us as much on Visiting Day.

“I don’t need you to protect me.”

He releases my wrist, a small smile on his face, as he answers, “I know.”

 

* * *

 

Darkness engulfs the room except for one place on the far wall where a spotlight shines on two figures. Their heads face down, away from me, so I don’t recognize them. Curious to see who these people are – or, really, why they would be starring as one of my greatest fears – I walk forward.

Or, at least, I try.

If I attempt to move my foot forward or lean my chest away from the wall, I’m pulled back, like an invisible rubber band is keeping me to the wall, away from the other prisoners.

I’m still struggling to move forward when a gun cocks beside my head. Two rifles, one on either side of me, stick out from the wall, their barrels pointed, not at me, but at the couple on the other side of the room. Pin pricks of red light shine on their heads. The couple, moving in sync, lifts their heads. With a strangled gasp, I recognize them.

My parents.

Lyra Erso, whose face I hadn’t seen since I was a child, but whose eyes I would recognize anywhere. Galen, who assured me he loved me no matter what before my Choosing Ceremony and whose name headlines the newspaper these days, inspiring great Erudite pride or vicious suspicion. And now targets rest on their heads, and I am powerless to stop it.

My heart pounds in my ears and I struggle harder against the bonds. Logically, I know they’re not real. They’re not in any danger. We buried my mother years ago and my father is secure in his labs at Erudite headquarters. This isn’t the first time I’ve been in a simulation forcing my worst fears upon me, I remind myself, and I’ve handled them before. All I need to do is calm down and this is gone. Close my eyes and focus on my breathing and calming my racing heart.

But none of the other simulations have been this personal. They’ve been child’s play compared to this: drowning and a loss of control. The simulation found my worst fear to shove at me today, something profoundly personal.

I can’t stand to see my parents like this; I cannot let them die for me.

“Ready!” A voice, harsh and almost mechanical, calls from beside my head, and the guns shift, snapping into position.

“Jyn,” my mother cries, and I don’t ever remember hearing her voice so helpless, “Jyn, help us, please!”

Growls escape my throat as I do everything I can to get away from the wall; I’m punching backwards, clawing at the cement behind me, but I go nowhere, only pulling away bloody and bruised hands.

“Aim!” I picture the sniper’s fingers poised above the trigger of the gun, just as I’ve been trained.

“Stardust, do something!” My father snaps, and I see him struggling against bonds as well.

I forget what I’m doing, I forget that this is a simulation where I need to calm myself down. All I know is I need to save them; I can’t live with their blood on my hands, the guilt of their deaths on my conscience. With one last desperate shove against the wall, I shove my way forward and, by some miracle, I move.

I sprint across the room to my parents, begging to get there before the bullets do, ready and willing to do anything to save them.

I hear the mechanical voice behind me ordering, “Fire!” but before I see bullets racing towards my parents, before I know if I’m successful at saving them, my eyes snap open.

I’m back in the metal chair, in the dark room where I received the serum. From the computer in the corner, I see Cassian look up. Traditionally, his face is passive when I finish the simulations. He’ll give me a curt nod and report how long it took me to calm myself down before sending me on my way, but not today. He stares, his eyes wide with emotion. (Panic? Fury? Anger? I can never tell.)

“How’d you do that?” he demands. “How did you get away from the wall?”

I scowl at him. “I found a solution to my fear. That’s the point of these simulations, isn’t it? Learning how to work through your fear?”

“Yes,” he snaps, sounding thoroughly frustrated. “Yes, but…”

Instead of finishing his sentence, he grabs my elbow and pulls me from the room. I jerk my arm back, attempting to get away, but his hold his tight. He doesn’t let me go until we’re in the middle of the hallway, away from the simulation room but still a safe distance from the traffic of the rest of Dauntless headquarters.

“You’re Divergent,” he says and fear shoots through me at the accusation. I don’t know what I did, how I tipped him off, but I need to cover my tracks and pull his suspicion away from me.

How many times has Cassian laughed over my obvious tells and explained in the experienced knowledge only a former Candor has that he _always_ knows when I’m lying?

If I can fool Cassian Andor with a lie only once in my life, this needs to be the moment.

“What’s Divergent?” I ask. My tone is snarky, biting, as he would expect it to be. I keep eye contact with him and hold my hands still at my side.

He snorts at my attempt to lie and leans close as he speaks, quickly and quietly. “You should have gone to Candor, Erso, with those lying skills. You manipulated the simulation. Only a Divergent can do that.” He throws a glance over his shoulder, but we’re still alone. “I’ll delete that footage, but you need to learn to control it.”

His eyes meet mine and I’m suddenly struck by how _close_ he’s standing, how, when he speaks, I can feel his breath on my face.

“Otherwise,” he continues, his dark eyes serious, “that’ll be you in front of a firing squad, not your parents.”

 

* * *

 

I wait in the Pit that night, staring up at the glass walkways overhead. I hadn’t been able to focus on my dinner or even the chocolate cake Kes found for dessert. The sight of my parents with rifles trained on them bothered me, yes, but it’s how easily Cassian knew I was Divergent that bothers me more.

After we finished dinner, I waved Kes and Bodhi away, saying I wanted some time to myself. Neither of them noticed my lie – I’m certain Cassian would have noticed the it – and they wandered away, discussing visiting the blind man and his husband at the tattoo parlor again, or perhaps finding the pretty girl Kes had set his eyes on.

Now, I wait for Cassian to appear. Half an hour passes before I see him, mercifully alone, walking across the Pit towards where the member’s dormitories. I jog to catch up with him, falling into his stride easily, ignoring the way his long legs cover much more ground than mine in each step. He stays silent, but his shoulders tense. He knows what I’m here for.

“How’d you know?” I demand without preamble.

Cassian grabs hold of my arm and pulls me down a side hallway with little traffic. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growls, his voice low.

I stand my ground. “I need to control it, you said. Okay,” I cross my arms as I talk. “Then teach me how.”

Cassian casts a frantic look towards one of the blue lights illuminating the hallway. Without another word, he puts his hand on the small of my back and pushes me forward. To my surprise, we head back towards the Pit where crowds of people meander around, leaving dinner or visiting the shops or chatting with each other. Cassian directs me past the Pit to the chasm that runs through the middle of Dauntless headquarters. He glances subtly over his shoulder before heading towards a stone staircase leading into the depths and closer to the rushing river. He moves in front of me, shifting his hand from my back and down my arm until he grabs my hand. We stay silent as we descend and as we climb over the rough and jagged rocks. The roaring of the river fills my ears and silences the bustle of life above us.

If there was a place in the Dauntless compound to discuss a secret, this would be it.

Cassian settles onto one of the rocks on the edge of the water, dangling his feet just above the rushing waves. I wait this time, determined that he’ll start this conversation, not me.

“I know,” he begins, and it’s the most vulnerable I’ve heard his voice. “I know because I had to learn to control it, too.”

He won’t say the word. _Divergent_. He’s been hiding this for years; silence is too ingrained in him for him to risk it.

“I don’t understand what makes it dangerous,” I admit, staring out across the water. “I can change the simulation. So what?”

Cassian shakes his head, a grim smile turning his lips. “It means you’re different,” he says, “And there’s nothing our leaders hate more than those who won’t conform.”

“Shame,” I smirk, as if we’re not discussing a matter that is literally life and death. “I’ve always been a fan of rebellion.”

“Trust me,” Cassian says, turning his gaze to my face. His eyes are lighter than normal, and I have the strange urge to call them _hopeful_. “I’ve noticed.”

He reaches one hand up, hesitant, to where a strand of my hair has fallen out of its bun and brushes it behind my ear. His hand lingers on my neck as he says, “But I need you to stay safe.”

“Why?” I challenge, leaning closer to him. “Why do you care about the fate of some poor Erudite transfer?”

For an answer, he leans forward and presses his lips to mine, his hand gently caressing the side of my neck.

“Good enough?” He whispers as he pulls back, and I answer with a kiss of my own.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos always make my day! Come say hi at [RxbxlCaptain](https://rxbxlcaptain.tumblr.com/) too!


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